Teatime
by ShadowFox197
Summary: A certain grumpy Brit helps an American decide what to drink on a drizzly Monday morning. Short one-shot; "cute" in my opinion. Enjoy!


Teatime

The American sat, staring with a glazed expression at the muted soap opera playing on the TV. His chin rested on his hand, pushing up his glasses. He was sitting in a quaint English bakery, a little lost on why he was there.

The couple on screen twirled, overacting their lovey-dovey roles with bemused smiles and catty eye-bats. He blinked, and then sighed.

A crash of thunder curtailed his trance, shocking him back to reality. Oh. That's why he was there. If he had payed attention to the news that morning, he might have noted the brewing storm expected to hit…now.

Perhaps that's why he forgot his umbrella. Perhaps that's why his best suit was soaked. Perhaps that was why he was sitting in the rundown, but cozy English shop, staring at a soap opera and wondering if he should buy a hot drink.

The waiter came out, menu and pen at the ready.

"Would you like some tea, sir?" the waiter asked, in a clipped British accent, one hand resting on his hip. The American's eyes wandered to the waiter's green ones, mind still foggy.

"Sure." He sighed, taking the proffered menu. The waiter retreated to the back room with a swish of his hips. After a moment, the American's attention turned back to the menu. Where was the coffee? They couldn't possibly have three whole pages of different types of watery leaf juice…could they?

Apparently they could. The man sighed again, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. With the storm being as bad as it was, his boss wouldn't expect him to be in work. But the storm also prevented him from walking home.

Tea it was then.

He grew increasingly more irritated as he scanned down the page. What was the difference between all the teas, anyway? It looked like the ingredient list was just copied and pasted twenty times over!

"Excuse me!" he called, flagging down the passing waiter. The waiter paused with a vaguely irritated countenance, two steaming pots in hand. "Yes?" he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

"Could you please explain to me the difference between all these teas?" the man demanded. "They all have the same ingredients."

The waiter's eyebrow quirked again; "A moment please", he murmured, before delivering the tea to the other customers. "Now, would you like a recommendation? If so, the Earl Gray-"

"-actually I just want to know why they're all made of tasteless leaves-"

"-is quite fantastic- wha? EXCUSE ME but tea is not _tasteless_ -" the waiter hissed.

"Tea is only hot water with a little bit of flavor." The man glared back, trying to keep his voice low. People were beginning to turn towards their voices.

The waiter's fist clenched, his voice opening and closing as if he were to say something. Deciding against it, the waiter simply turned away stiffly to the kitchen.

Almost instantly, a guilty feeling overcame the young man. He shouldn't have lost his temper with the waiter; he was just trying to help.

A few minutes later, the waiter returned to the man with his head in his hands. "Here, drink this." The waiter commanded, all but slamming the steaming pot down onto the table.

The American blinked, wondering if he should actually do what the waiter in the frilly pink apron was asking. The waiter's green eyes bored down on him, waiting like a mother on a stubborn child. Hesitantly, the man poured himself a cup, and took the tiniest sip he could manage without grimacing.

Was that coconut he tasted? And pineapple?

"Wha-" the man opened his mouth in exclamation, but was shunned into silence by the Britton's knowing look.

"Oh my, is that flavor you're tasting?" the waiter's hand flew to his cheek theatrically.

"I-I." The man stuttered, still regaining his composure. "Sorry," he finally breathed.

"You're forgiven." The waiter turned his head sideways. "But you'd better tip me well for treating me in such a way on Monday morning."

The man glanced over his glasses at the waiter, smirking slightly. He couldn't help but mutter the last word in the argument. "Since when is coconut a replacement for all those watery British leaves?"

A teapot broke, somewhere in the back.

 **-xxxxxxxxxx-**

 **Author's Notes:** This is actually something I wrote a few years back and just now rediscovered while rummaging through some files...I thought it was cute enough to post, so here it is! I hope you enjoyed! Please comment and let me know what you think!


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